


Waterbaby

by SkyPiglet



Series: 100% AmberField Fluff [4]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, BPD, CPTSD, Christmas Scene, Drowning, F/F, Mixed Media, PTSD, Parental Abuse, Self Harm, Suicide, amberfield, pure Amberfield, trauma girls, water theme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-29 03:15:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30149931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyPiglet/pseuds/SkyPiglet
Summary: "But you have to lift the rocks carefully," Rachel continues, scooping the creature into her hands, "or they get scared and run. Sometimes they even panic, and they leave their shells in a hurry. Then they die to the elements."A series of vignettes about Rachel’s hurts, Max’s hurts, and water.[ This fic comes with a GIANT TRIGGER WARNING for: Graphic self-harm, one image of body horror related to self-harm and blood, suicide by drowning, self-hate, and parental abandonment and abuse. ]This can be read apart from the rest of the series, though there's small callbacks to other entries. (And sorry, I know this doesn't quite fit the "fluff" promise of the series title.)
Relationships: Rachel Amber/Maxine "Max" Caulfield
Series: 100% AmberField Fluff [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2161197
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Waterbaby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [M_arahuyo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_arahuyo/gifts).



> This fic is partly a gift for M_arahuyo, for the bleak, messed up AmberField that is "the lost girls", which helped give me energy for this fic. Also thanks go to dwoht/quinnfebrey on tumblr, for their The Wilds post about the girls being seen/not seen, a thing I borrowed for this fic.
> 
> The book that Rachel mentions is “The Thing About Jellyfish”, by Ali Benjamin. The poetry stanzas are clipped from my poem, “Water”, which can be found below. Parts of it have been changed to better fit Rachel’s story. 
> 
> https://softpiglet.tumblr.com/post/644964716446351360/water
> 
> This was a labor of love, but it was also super painful, and the first time I’ve ever cried while writing a fic-- multiple times, and hard.
> 
> I hope that reading this brings some comfort to people out there who are hurting; you are not alone, and you are very loved.

_♫ Bat for Lashes - Siren Song ♫_

_“Home” is a fucked-up lie parents tell so you won’t  
_ _leave them alone with only their misery and  
_ _childhood photos of years you spent dead  
_ _until you strangled the slobbering, limp  
_ _frothing dog that was your love, tore  
_ _a baby girl howling and raging  
_ _from the still wet corpse,  
_ _and gave her  
_ _a name.”_

_Just one more..._

That’s what she tells herself every time. The shower's been running for almost an hour, and she can't feel the cold water on her skin anymore. 

On nights like these, while her parents dream, and the world has fallen asleep, the thoughts creep back in her head. They latch on like ticks to the tender parts she locked away for the day-- thoughts like, “I don’t deserve to be here,” “I shouldn’t be alive,” and “everything people know about me is a lie”.

 _Just one more notch_ , she thinks, not sure where her body ends and the water begins. 

The razorblade in her hands is the size of a small mouse-- a funny thing to notice at a time like this. Rachel giggles at herself. Max loves animals so much that it comprises half of what she talks about-- the other half a squished together blob of photography, nerdy sci fi movies, and food. Her cuteness is catching. The next thing Rachel knows, her skin will split open to reveal a little doe head peeking through. 

_Like giving birth to blood_. 

It’s a fleeting bliss, to forget. The thin island of metal is all that keeps her from losing everything. At least, that’s what she tells herself. Sometimes-- no, most of the time-- it’s all just too much, and she has to hide away in a bathroom stall or some hidden corner. 

At least she picked a convenient spot on her body; she’s pretended to adjust her bra or shirt on more than one occasion. And of course it would be the crook of her right shoulder, her upper arm, opposite the place where Damon Merrick branded her for life. She’s balancing it out, making parallel scars. It makes sense, in its own sick way. And she knows that she’s sick, but she doesn’t care, because this is all she has. 

That, and Max. Chloe, sometimes, but mostly Max. 

_A razorblade and a pretty girl._

_Damn Rach, you’ve really got it all._

She twists the shower knob off, letting the water droplets fall from her face, then swirl down the drain. She grits her teeth, sucking in her breath. That one really hurt. 

_Maybe one more time._

* * *

_“Back when my head was soft, I loved my father  
_ _like a god– eternal provider, a warm current  
_ _that seeped into the drywall and every inch  
_ _of the house around me. He fed me  
_ _pemmican and honey until  
_ _my bones burst, swollen  
_ _with material affection and then  
_ _he never touched me again. I still feel  
_ _his phantom claws around my neck now, tightening,  
_ _squeezing out every bit of love and fear until  
_ _I’m empty.”_

“I don’t fucking care, James!” Rachel yells into her phone, before slamming it shut and throwing it at the ocean. “Ugh!” She screams. She growls in frustration, hands pulling at her hair, before sinking down to the sand. 

“Rachel?” Max says, sitting down beside her. 

“What?!” Rachel barks. Max jerks back. The sight is enough to scare Rachel out of her funk. “Shit, shit! Fuck. I’m sorry, Max. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Max smiles, “nothing I haven’t seen before with Chloe.”

“Yeah,” Rachel laughs half-heartedly. “Chloe can be like that sometimes. But still…”

Max puts an arm around Rachel, grazing the fresh wounds on her shoulder. Rachel tries to hide the involuntary wince.

“Are you okay, Rach?”

“I--” she sighs, defeated, “--no.”

“Do you want to talk about it?

“Not right now,” her voice trembles. 

Max leans into her, silent. Sometimes, there are no right words. 

The sun hasn’t peeked over the horizon yet, so the beach is freezing, even through Rachel’s jeans. But it feels good against her body, still hot with anger. Her breathing slows. 

After a beat, Rachel gets up, brushing the sand off herself. 

“Can we just...have a nice morning together?” She says. “Please.” 

“Oka--”

“--great!” She brightens up, trying not to cry. Trying not to ruin their date. Sure, they do this every saturday, just the two of them, when Chloe insists on sleeping in on her day off. And okay, Rachel’s seen this beach a million times. But with Max, every moment feels precious. She can cry later.

“Are you sure about--”

“--hey, do you like hermit crabs? The tide’s low right now. It’s the perfect time to find them. Come on!” 

She breaks into a run, tugging Max along with her.

* * *

 _“Where the river meets the ocean, that’s  
_ _where I want to be, pulled into  
_ _the sea like a hermit crab–  
_ _and when I wash up  
_ _on the shore, my corpse will haunt  
_ _some poor kid, ruin the family vacation, two  
_ _worm-drunk eyes staring back.”_

“Right here!” Rachel shouts over the din of birds and rolling surf, as they near a rocky cove.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Max asks, eyeing the jagged path inside. 

“Yup!” Rachel scales a small outcropping of rocks, then helps Max up after. She leads Max inside, their footsteps echoing in the stone chamber. Here, the waves hit softer, like the promise of a seashell held up to a child’s ear.

At the other end of the cove, by a family of crooked stones, they find small puddles in the uneven floor. 

“When the tide recedes," Rachel says, "the hermit crabs are left ashore. They like to hide in these tide pools, or under loose rocks. It's like a home within a home."

She crouches down, jostling a fist-sized stone with her hand, using the utmost care. The stone reveals a hermit crab, peeping out from a spiral shell the blush of burnt sunset. Max is reminded of those fancy Belgian chocolates her aunt always gets her for Christmas, the marbled kind with hazelnut.

"But you have to lift the rocks carefully," Rachel continues, scooping the creature into her hands and standing back up, "or they get scared and run. Sometimes they even panic, and they leave their shells in a hurry. Then they die to the elements."

Max draws closer, wary. The red speckled fronds that are the hermit crab's legs bristle curiously, its two black, beady eyes peering back at her. 

"Can I?" Max asks, moving her hand in.

"Mhmm. It won't bite, I promise! It might pinch a bit, but nothing strong enough to break skin."

"Like when you get a little rough with me?"

Rachel giggles. "Something like that." 

The hermit crab bristles at Max's intrusion, shrinking back for a moment, but then it pokes itself back out, laying a few arms in Max's palm. Its carapace is like an egg's, but smoother, and a little damp. It squeezes one of Max's fingers, but the sensation feels more like a tickle than a pinch. 

Max looks up to see Rachel beaming. In the blazing glow of the sunrise, Rachel's red flannel and the speckled mango of a hermit crab blend together like a mother and child. Max has never cared much for religion, but holy moments seem to happen more often when she's with Rachel. Glittering with sweat and sea spray, Rachel looks powerful and vulnerable, like a fairy sharing a deep, dark secret. The moment aches like a photograph, but Max knows that it’s only meant for the two of them. And there will be plenty more like this-- long exposures for the camera of her heart and her body-memory, the blooming sensations in her chest. 

"They're little angels," Rachel says. "So much better than people. When a hermit crab finds a new shell, they'll wait for their friends to come around, and then they all take turns trading up to the next biggest shell."

The hermit crab releases Max’s finger. Rachel stoops down, returning it back to its shallow pool, like a mother cat releasing her kitten. She scoots the stone back into place, and the hermit crab skitters into the shade.

At that moment, the sun, a golden glory, finally breaches the horizon. Its light reflects off the tide pools and wet rock, casting shimmering patterns on the walls behind them.

“Whoa…” Max says. She retrieves her camera from her messenger bag and starts snapping photos. “This is amazing, Rachel.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Rachel says. “My d-- James used to take me here when I was little. But then he became the DA, and suddenly, he didn’t have the time to anymore.”

Max hugs Rachel from behind, arms around Rachel’s belly.

“Thank you for showing me.”

“Of course, Maxie. You’re like family to me.”

“Whatever is going on between you and your dad, Rachel, I’m sure it’ll all work out eventually.”

Rachel stiffens. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew what he’s done.”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t assume.”

Rachel laces her fingers through Max’s, relaxing. “It’s okay. I know you mean well.”

“You _mean_ the world to me.”

Rachel giggles. “You know, for an awkward little hipster, sometimes you’re like, hella smooth.”

“Hey, you walked right into that one.

“Mmm, I guess I did.”

Max nuzzles into Rachel’s neck, snapping a selfie of them together. She holds the picture up. “There’s that smile.”

“It’s easy to when you’re here.”

Rachel’s scars ache.

“I’m here for the bad times too, you know.”

Rachel turns around, pulling Max into a tight hug. “I promise I’ll tell you one day.”

Max looks up at the sun. Her sun. Rachel’s hair ablaze, the uneven wisps of her golden crown like glimmering matches, Max can’t help but love her. 

They kiss, long and slow, as the tide rolls in.

* * *

 _“That terrible night,  
_ _God hollowed the valley out  
_ _with the rain, all the worms squirming  
_ _inside drowned possum bellies, tails sprouting  
_ _mold like white feathers. I scraped the mud off  
_ _the old tower, built by giants centuries ago,  
_ _marking each calamity. Once, the water  
_ _was higher than my shoulders. There:  
_ _1994, the year I was born,  
_ _a slow eclipse, flood  
_ _waters rising.”_

It’s one in the morning when Max’s phone buzzes her awake. She fumbles under her pillow to find it, flicking the screen on to answer the call. 

“nnhn….hello?”

“Max?” A shaky voice says from the other side.

Max sits up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “What’s wrong, Rachel?”

“I’m scared. The storm…”

Max’s heart sinks, her head full of images from other timelines. She realizes it’s pouring outside, a pattering wash of noise at her window. The tree outside creaks, straining with the wind. 

Her hand tingles.

“...Max?” Rachel says, “Are you there?”

“Sorry, I got distrac--”

In that moment, a crack of thunder splits the air, booming so close that Max feels the vibrations in her body. 

“Shit!” she says, pulling her blanket over her head.

Rachel giggles softly. “Oh, Max...are you afraid of storms too?”

“No! I mean-- yeah, maybe…”

“It’s okay, little doe.”

“I’m sorry, Rach,” Max says, tears brimming in her eyes. “I’m supposed to be the strong one. You called me because you were scared, and here I am, hiding under my sheets.”

“Noooo. It’s not like that, you dork. You don’t have to be anything you’re not to deserve my love. Just be your usual sweet self. And I’m hiding, too.”

Max takes a deep breath, trying to remind herself that she’s safe, and that it’s just an ordinary thunderstorm. She lies back down, putting the call on speakerphone, and lays the phone by her head. 

She lets out a big sigh. 

“There’s a lot I haven’t told you too, Rachel.”

“I know. I can see it in your eyes sometimes, when you think no one’s watching.”

“Really?”

“You wear your heart on your sleeve, you Charlie Brown, you. Why do you think I like you so much?”

“I don’t know...it’s the freckles, right?”

Rachel laughs, loud and strong. “True, those are hella cute. But I see you, Max Caulfield.”

“I...I don’t mean to hide things from you.”

“I know, and it’s okay. You wait for me, and I’ll wait for you.”

Another peal of thunder splits the night, this time further away. Max’s body tenses up. She breathes in deep, then out, slowly. 

“I miss you, ” Max says.

“Miss you too. Distance between lovers should be illegal.”

Max giggles, better now. “Let’s be scared together?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

As the storm continues to rage, Max drifts back asleep to the lullaby of Rachel’s soft humming-- a nameless song which no one knows, fading as soon as it’s born. 

She dreams of birds. 

* * *

_“These days, dying happens slowly: a scab  
_ _picked at until it scars, a song  
_ _looped over and over until  
_ _the neighbors scream  
_ _at each other and you can feel  
_ _the vibrations like flood water, shut  
_ _everything off, lock yourself in your room  
_ _all night, a shivering leaf under thin blankets.”_

“I don’t know about this, Rachel,” Max says, the two of them standing at the doors to the Blackwell Academy Pool.

“C’mon, Max,” Rachel replies, clinging on to her girlfriend’s arm, “it’ll be fun! I promise. And if we get caught, I’ll take the blame, okay?”

“But I don’t want you to get in trouble, either.”

She nuzzles into Max’s shoulder. “You’re so sweet. But what’s the point in being the princess of Blackwell if I can’t abuse my royal powers every now and then?” She plants a kiss on her cheek to seal the deal.

“Well…” 

“--great!” Rachel fiddles with David’s keys (courtesy of Chloe’s sticky fingers), unlocking the doors, and pulls them open with a grand flourish. “Now come on, Max. I’ll make a daring girl out of you yet.” She winks, sending Max into a full-body blush. Max follows her into the darkness, love-drunk.

The nostalgic bite of chlorine hits Rachel’s nose as soon as she walks in, growing sharper the deeper they travel. Their lone steps echo down the hall and through the girls’ locker room. Then it’s there-- a quivering, clear, cobalt altar, lit only by a scant few emergency bulbs at the edges, like candles for a ritual. 

“Should we find the lights?” Max asks.

“Nah,” Rachel replies, “it’s kind of...romantic like this, don’t you think?”

“These blues are so pretty.” Max holds Rachel’s pinky finger with her own. “Monet would love it.”

“You know,” Rachel says, pulling Max’s hand to her lips, and kissing it like a knight to a princess, “they think that Monet’s Blue Period happened because that was the only color he could see at the end of his life. Cataracts.”

Max meets Rachel’s gaze, her eyes warm lagoons in the dark. “That’s okay, I have twenty-twenty vision. And I see you, Rachel Amber.” She smiles, freckles and all.

Max is always catching Rachel off guard like this. One second everything is lovely sensation and distraction and tone painting with gestures, and the next, Max drills deep into her, past all her defenses, with a single look, or a few words. Max doesn’t do anything. At least, not on purpose. She just acts like her usual sweet self, and every carefully constructed wall in Rachel’s labyrinthine defenses crumbles at the slightest nudge from her. 

Max kisses her, tender and warm. Rachel returns the kiss, but her head is somewhere else, her eyes studying the iridescent patterns reflected off the pool onto the ceiling. 

Max pulls away. “...Rachel? Are you okay?”

“Mhmm! I’m fine,” Rachel bluffs. “Follow me?” And temptation pulls her into a daring run, then a leap, clothes and all, right into the pool. The splash sends spray onto Max.

“Hey! Wait for me!” Max laughs, struggling to take off her skinny jeans. 

“Come on,” Rachel shouts, “the water’s cold without you here in my arms, Maxie!”

Rachel lays back in the water, letting her hair billow out like a jellyfish. The lights above, like a false aurora, are hypnotic. Her breathing slows, matching the artificial current. She feels at home in the water, surrounded by it. A mermaid who lost her way, reunited with the darkness. 

Rachel’s jeans, soaked like sponges, weigh her down, her _Firewalk_ band tee clinging to her skin-- it’s a hard float, one that requires conscious effort in her muscles to maintain, but she can’t take off any layers, because then Max will see _it._ _Them_. The meteor crater in her left arm, the raft of pink lashes etched in her right. 

_Damon Merrick was here.  
_ _Rachel was here.  
_ _Rachel was here.  
_ _Rachel was here.  
_ _Rachel was here.  
_ _Rachel was here._

Sometimes, she wants Max to etch her name on her skin, too. _Would she use a box cutter? Maybe a paperclip? The classic Bic lighter to the skin? Or maybe Max has a bad girl under those wallflower petals, and she’d borrow one of David Madsen’s hunting knives and spend a whole afternoon carving her up like a roast._

She never says these things out loud, of course. She knows it would scare Max away, make her never want to speak to her again, maybe even turn against her. _“Dog, Chloe. You didn’t tell me Rachel was such a sick trainwreck of a human being. I can’t believe I ever loved someone as fucked up as her.”_

Max finally untangles herself from her jeans, but now she has her head stuck in her shirt. _What a cute little dork_ , Rachel laughs bitterly to herself. _She deserves someone who will make her happy, not dead weight like me._

 _It would be so easy_ , Rachel thinks, _so easy to let go in this moment, cradled in the loving warmth of the earth’s womb. Surrounded by the water, with the most important person in my world right next to me, the shadow of her kiss still on my lips. I could die before she finds out who I am, who I really am inside, and runs far, far away. She’ll remember me as someone beautiful and good._

It _is_ easy. 

She lets go. She stops fighting the gravity of the earth, and lets her body sink. She closes her eyes to the light. 

_Down, down into darkness_.

No more pretending. No more late nights and long showers trying to hide the claw marks in her skin. No more James and Rose. No more homework or deadlines or trashy Vortex Club Parties. No more Chloe.

No more Max.

 _Shit_.

_No more Max._

The thought splits her body in two like three hundred shark teeth along her spine. 

_How could I ever want to leave her?_

She opens her mouth for air, but only finds water. Her chest and throat spasm, muscles twitching as her body tries to force in oxygen, but can’t. 

_Max! Max...please…_

Her lips tingle, turning blue. It’s Max, kissing her. Her arms are the water, holding her. Loving her.

_I don’t want to go yet. I want to see her again. I want to--_

Everything starts to fade.

And then the warm shadow is there, swimming towards her, blotting out the lights. A hungry shark, or maybe a dolphin. She can’t feel her face. The shadow takes her hand, pulls her up, and up, and up, past fire and crackling trees and sharp knives and clinking beer bottles and shattered dinner tables and angry fathers and then the water parts and she’s back, splayed out on the deck of the Blackwell Pool, coughing up her lungs, gasping for air, throat burning like Dante escaping the ninth circle of hell.

“Ra...Rachel…” Max pants, hair dripping rain. She’s beautiful when she’s wet. She’s always so beautiful. She crawls over to Rachel, takes her hand in hers, struggles to stay up. “Are you…”

“Max,” Rachel croaks out. 

“Oh, thank fuck.” Max lays her head on Rachel’s chest. “I was so scared.”

“I’m sor--”

“--it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“Are you mad at me?” Rachel whispers.

“No,” Max looks up, eyes squeezing out hot tears, “of course not. I’m just happy you’re still here.”

“Me too, Max. Me too.”

 _“I pull my ragged head from the creek with a pop,  
_ _my neck snapping back into the moonlight  
_ _of the burning night, my medusa hair  
_ _weeping with every breath. It’s  
_ _not the first time, and it won’t  
_ _be the last.”_

* * *

 _“Some nights I still hear it, that ringing in my ears  
_ _like a pipe slowly freezing– and I miss it.  
_ _And then I swallow another layer, let  
_ _the lump calcify in my chest,  
_ _a blooming coral, the sharp borealis  
_ _between my tender ribs. It’s always going  
_ _to hurt– I know that. You don’t have to tell me.  
_ _Girls like me, we don’t ever find dry land.”_

When winter break rolls around, Max takes Rachel home with her for the holidays. And during Rachel’s stay, Max brings her to one of her favorite places in the world-- the aquarium. 

It’s early in the morning, and only a handful of elderly people or toddlers with their parents roam the glowing, blue halls with them. Max fawns over the penguins, insisting on a dozen selfies with them, while Rachel can’t stop talking about the whale sharks and their goofy mouths and spotted bodies. 

It’s only after their impromptu picnic, on a cushy bench by the sea turtles, with Rachel’s head in Max’s lap, that Rachel seems...distracted.

“What’s up, Sunrise?”

Rachel smiles at the pun on her middle name. “After we finally graduate from Blackwell, you know exactly what you want to do, don’t you Max?”

“I mean, I guess.” She plays with Rachel’s hair. “I know I want to go to college. Keep pursuing photography, and try to get into some galleries. If I have the guts for it, at least.”

“That’s so good. You’re hella talented and I know you can do it.”

“Thanks,” Max kisses her forehead. “You want to go to LA, right? And make it big as a star? That’s what Chloe told me.”

“Well…”

“...are you afraid that we won’t be able to stay together?”

“No,” Rachel shakes her head, “it’s not like that. The thing is...I don’t know if I want to be a model, or actress, or any kind of star now. It doesn’t feel right. It’s just not who I am.”

“But haven’t you wanted that since like, forever?”

“Yeah, but I...I just can’t. I want to-- I _need_ to find some kind of peace and quiet. No more pretending. I want to be myself, not someone’s character or role. I have all of these thoughts in my head, all these feelings...I need to make sense of them. I can’t do that while I’m trying to put myself in the shoes of some 16th century Shakespearean tragic heroine. Not anymore, at least.”

“I know what you mean. Something happened to me once. And after that...it was so hard to take pictures. It took a long time before I could even think of touching my camera again.”

“I don’t think that the acting bug is coming back for me.”

“And that’s okay too! Whatever you decide, I’m proud of you.”

Rachel curls up around Max’s arm. “Godddd. How are you always so good to me?”

“Loving you isn’t hard. You’re like a big ‘ol sea sponge, you just soak it all up.”

“Eww, gross,” Rachel laughs. “You’re such a goof sometimes.”

Max beams, her freckles bright in the glow of the overhead light. 

They resume their journey through the aquarium, passing through a tall doorway and out into a hall with a massive, elephant-high glass wall on the right-- a giant chamber filled with water and jellyfish, hundreds of them, in pastel pinks and blues and ghostly, almost transparent whites, swimming, floating, and pulsating through endless expanses of underwater ocean. 

Rachel walks up to them, putting her hand to the glass. A peachy, bubbly thing meets her, then pushes off the surface with its tendrils, disappearing back into the thrumming mass.

“I read a book once,” Rachel says, “about a girl who was obsessed with jellyfish. They fascinated her. She’d go to aquariums and just watch them. She did it for hours at a time, almost every day. Just sat there on the floor and stared. She did it so much, her parents and her friends started to worry.”

Max rests her head on Rachel’s shoulder, listening.

“She loved their beauty. The way they floated in the water-- like paper lanterns, but alive. Living works of art. But they were also dangerous, with their stingers, and some of them are so thin, they blend into sunlight.

Max sets her palm on the glass next to Rachel’s, their pinkies touching.

“And she couldn’t decide if she hated them,” Rachel’s voice trembles, “or or if she loved them. Because one of them had killed her best friend-- stung her right there, in the middle of the ocean. Left her nervous system paralyzed, lungs full of water, drowning as her entire body screamed, her mouth open but not making any sound--“

“--Rachel…” 

“And I don’t know if I’m the jellyfish, or the girl, or that girl’s best friend. But I know that everything hurts. And that I hate everything in this world, except for you.”

“What about Chloe?”

“Fine, Chloe too.” 

“Hey…” Max says, holding her, “it won’t always feel like this, Rachel.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know.”

“How, Max?” Rachel pushes her away, her eyes burning. “How can you know what it’s like to have all of these...these fucking scars, and for your own dad to stab you in the back, and your mom to be fake, and to know that when you were a baby, you weren’t worth loving, so your real mom threw you away, and your dad let her? To know that your dad loved you in such a fucked up way that his plan to keep you safe was to have a drug dealer fucking gut you? How can you even come _close_ to that?” 

Rachel turns away from Max, fuming. Max thinks the room suddenly feels warmer, even hot. But she doesn’t care about that. She tries to find the right words, but it all gets jumbled up in her head. 

“Rachel…”

“What, Max?” Rachel yells, stomping away.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I know it’s not the same. It isn’t. I just...I used to think that I was born to be hurt. That I’d...spend my whole life sad and scared and afraid of everything.” Max sits on the floor, trying to keep herself together. She thinks she hears a sniffle from Rachel. 

Max continues. “I was in a-- in a _storm_ , and I couldn’t escape, and it swallowed me up, and I’d turn back the clock and then I’d be back there, watching it destroy me and everything and everyone I love and care about all over again. And no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I forced every cell in my body to fight it, no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t stop it.”

Max gives up on fighting her tears. “I lost everything, over and over and over. It happened so many times, and the whole time, I felt so fucking powerless. And you know what the worst part was? That little voice in my head that kept saying: _This is your fault. You did this. You deserve this.”_

“Max…” Rachel is with her again now, her hazel eyes muddy puddles. 

“I know, Rachel,” Max whispers, “I know what it’s like.”

“Please--”

“--you’re not alone, okay? You’re not--” She collapses in Rachel’s arms, sobbing. “--you’re not alone. You’re not alone. You’re not alone. You’re not--” 

“Shhh, shhh. It’s okay, little one.”

“You’re not alone. You’ve never been alone. I’ve always been here. I can’t-- I can’t explain it all right now, it’s too much. But I’m here, and you’ve never been alone, even when you thought you were.”

“I know. It’s okay, Max. I believe you.”

“Th-- thank you.”

They stay like that for a while, cradling each other on the floor, as the jellyfish glow and ebb around them. Alone: two landlocked mermaids, missing the sea.

“You really think it gets better?” Rachel asks.

“It does. The last few months are proof of that.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Rachel smiles, wiping away Max’s tears. 

* * *

_♫ OOHYO - Enough ♫_

It’s Christmas morning when Max drags Rachel out to the Seattle waterfront. The sun hasn’t yet risen, and the cold fog coming off the Puget Sound has Rachel clinging on to Max for warmth, but it’s worth it when they reach the water-- hundreds of Christmas lights dot every edge and available surface, a rainbow in the mist. 

“Wowser,” Rachel says.

Max giggles. “You’re hella cute when you say that.”

“Oh my god, stoppp. The sun isn’t even up yet and I already want to kiss you.”

“I seem to remember that you already wanted lots of that when I woke you with one earlier.”

“Guilty as charged. I can’t help that you’re oh-so-kissable.”

“Come on,” Max leads Rachel by the hand. “I know the perfect spot!”

At the end of the pier, they find a bench. Max brushes off the thin layer of snow on top so they can sit down.

“We can watch the harbor come to life from here,” Max says.

Rachel sits on Max’s lap, wrapping her arms around her neck. “I like this view,” she says, kissing Max. It’s enough to keep them both warm. 

They sit in silence for a moment, watching, as the sky lightens in shades of aquamarine and orchid, the fog thinning with the hint of morning.

“Thank you,” Rachel says.

“For what?”

“For loving me. For pulling me out of the water. For not being...afraid of me.”

“You’re the most lovable person I’ve ever met, Rachel. I’m afraid of losing you, not afraid _of_ _you_.”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s not always easy being with me. I’m...fucked up and damaged and you deserve someone better who--”

“--it’s not like that at all, Rach. We hold each other up. You make me better in so many ways that you don’t even realize.”

“Really?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Max...do you remember our first time together? When I told you about my father, and I showed you my scar? There’s more. I don’t think you noticed, you were so focused on the big one…”

“...I saw the other ones.”

Rachel’s stomach drops. “And you didn’t--”

“--I didn’t say anything because I knew you would talk about it when you were ready. I didn’t want to push you. You were already trusting me with so much.” 

“I…Max,” Rachel pleads.

Max sets her hand on Rachel’s arm, right where the marks are under her thick winter coat. The touch is soft, her hand warm even through gloves. Max looks right into her eyes. 

“I’m so sorry you’ve been hurt,” Max says, “and that you’re still hurting right now. But you don’t have to hurt by yourself anymore, Rachel. Your scars don’t scare me. They’re a part of you, and I love you. I love you, and I’m not going anywhere without you, okay?”

“Okay,” Rachel sniffles. “I love you too, Maxie.”

Max kisses the tears from her cheeks, then dots her nose with a peck. Rachel smiles, her head melting into Max’s shoulder, content.

“When the weather gets warmer,” Rachel says, still sniffling a little, “can we go swimming again? A big lake in the middle of the woods, away from everything and everyone. Just you and me.”

“I like that idea a lot. Let’s keep each other afloat?”

“It’s a date.”

As the sun banishes the fog, the Christmas lights along the harbor flicker off, lying dormant until their return next year. The sun’s rays catch the atmosphere at just the right angle, flashing a brilliant, radium green for a few precious seconds. It happens too quickly for Max to retrieve her camera, but she knows she’ll remember this moment, Rachel warm in her arms, for the rest of her life. 

“Merry Christmas, Rachel.”

“Merry Christmas, Max.”

_“Suddenly a tear_   
_a happy one_

_I’d shed a million for you_   
_‘cause you’re enough_   
_you’re enough_   
_for me.”_

_-OOHYO, “Enough”_


End file.
